


wishing doesn’t make it so

by firefliesandstarlight



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Canon Universe, Canon-typical swearing, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Roach Has the Brain Cell (The Witcher), for blasphemyincarnate, idiots to lovers, oh god what else do i tag uh, thank u for the inspiration & motivation, thats the best tag ive ever seen lmao, they’re both dumbasses but you know what? i wouldn’t have it any other way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25696885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefliesandstarlight/pseuds/firefliesandstarlight
Summary: jaskier doesn’t expect to see geralt again after he goes running into a crumbling manor house to save the witch that helped keep jaskier alive. he doesn’t expect to see geralt and the witch...together, either, but that’s just how this day is going, apparently.or: geralt doesn’t realize how much jaskier cares, and jaskier refuses to let him think he’s “unloved” any longer.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, and only bc it happened in canon, briefly ok
Comments: 6
Kudos: 82





	wishing doesn’t make it so

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blasphemyincarnate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blasphemyincarnate/gifts).



> it causes me physical pain that geralt just,,, left jaskier outside that stupid manor house to mourn him after it collapsed,,, didn’t ever think abt his bard,,,, poor jaskier 
> 
> anyway this is just me, fixing that, 
> 
> all my love to blasphemyincarnate, i owe u most of my fic inspiration <3 thx for giving me this idea n helping me flesh it out

A sudden breeze ruffles Jaskier and Geralt’s hair. The river, flowing lazily next to them, tosses up a spray of water. 

_ The djinn _ , Geralt thinks, but before he can say a word, Jaskier begins to speak, strolling to the edge of the riverbank and gesturing dramatically, as he is wont to do. 

“Djinn, I have freed thee, and as of this day, I am thy lord.” Jaskier makes a little bow. “Firstly, may Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris, be struck down with apoplexy and die.” 

_ Who the fuck is Moldy Socks? _ Geralt reaches out an arm in Jaskier’s direction, but Jaskier, oblivious, keeps going. 

“Secondly, the Countess de Stael must welcome me back with glee, open arms, and very little clothing. Thirdly-“ Jaskier is cut off by Geralt, who yanks him backward by the collar of his doublet. 

“Jaskier!” 

“What are you  _ do— _ ”

“Stop! There are only three wishes.” Geralt releases his hold on Jaskier, face hardening. 

Jaskier does his best to cover up his feelings of— no, not fear, he’s never been scared of Geralt and never will be, but he has most certainly been thrown off— with his usual sass. He clutches the djinn’s pot in one hand, turning to make eye contact with Geralt. 

“Oh, come on, you always say you want nothing from life. So how was I supposed to know you wanted three wishes all to yourself?” He’s teasing, of course, he usually is to some degree, but Geralt doesn’t catch it. 

“I just want some damn peace!” 

Jaskier barely hesitates. “Well, here’s your peace!” With force, Jaskier throws the djinn’s pot to the ground. Neither of them flinch when it shatters, though both lean down to clean up the pieces. 

Geralt, mind full of a hazy sort of annoyance stemming mostly from his lack of sleep, misses the fresh red cut on his arm. 

The breeze intensifies into a brisk wind. Despite Geralt’s enhanced senses, Jaskier is first to spot the source of the disturbance. 

“Geralt… Geralt, it’s the djinn!” 

Faster than Jaskier can track, Geralt stands and throws a sign at the djinn, hurtling by in the form of a thick cloud of pale black smoke. The djinn disappears, and for a moment, Geralt revels in a feeling of success. 

And then he hears the cough. 

Jaskier is doubled over, clutching at his throat. He’s gone pale, paler than even Geralt knows humans should be, and Geralt doesn’t need to listen to his heart rate and breathing to know that Jaskier is… Geralt doesn’t let himself think it. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt does his best to support his  _ not dying not dying not dying _ friend. He puts a hand on Jaskier’s back and holds out an arm to help the bard to get his balance. 

Unable to do anything but cough, Jaskier grips Geralt’s shoulder and looks up at him. For a split second, Geralt is sure he’s going to say something, but before either of them can, Jaskier vomits up blood and blacks out. 

* * *

In between bouts of gut-splitting pain, moments of unconsciousness, and odd encounters with apple juice, Jaskier builds an idea of what he and Geralt have gotten themselves into. There is a witch, a sorceress, who seems to have taken over a small village. She speaks to Geralt, words Jaskier can’t quite hear but knows without a doubt do not bode well, and the next thing Jaskier knows, he’s waking up in a canopied bed, dried blood coating his lips. 

The witch wants something… a wish? All Jaskier knows is that he very greatly, most urgently, wishes to be anywhere but in this stupid house with this crazy sorceress, at the moment. 

He says so. 

Nothing happens. 

The witch grows visibly angrier than she was before— a feat Jaskier thought for sure was impossible— and starts chanting. 

Jaskier runs. 

He makes it to the front of the house where, to his delight and, quite honestly, surprise, he meets Geralt. 

“Oh, Geralt. Thank the gods.” Jaskier takes a few quick steps to catch up with Geralt, walking alongside him. “I might live to see another day! We need to go.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt looks Jaskier up and down, focusing mostly on his bloody chin. “You’re okay.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes, not unkindly. “I’m glad to hear that you give a monkey’s about it.”

Geralt hums. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. What happened?”

“Well, I was having a rather lovely dream which then turned into a nightmare. There were naked women in both parts. The first one was loving, tender, very generous. The second, significantly more terrifying.”

Geralt sighs. “Tell me about the second one.”

Glancing back at the house, Jaskier says, with clear disapproval, “Well, black hair, devilish eyes, was painting an amphora on her abdomen. You know, the usual.”

“She wants to be the vessel.” Geralt doesn’t elaborate, but Jaskier doesn’t need him to. 

“What, you know this woman?” He scoffs. “Of course you know this woman.”

“She wants to become more powerful. But she’ll die.”

“Well, let’s pray for her on our way out of town.” Jaskier starts walking toward the open gate, but Geralt marches determinedly in the opposite direction, toward the manor. “Oh…” Running after him, Jaskier spreads his arms wide and tries to slow Geralt’s pace. “Are you perhaps short of a marble?”

Geralt doesn’t reply. 

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no.” Jaskier shakes his head, still trying to block Geralt’s way. “Do not tell me that this is finally the moment you’ve decided to actually care about someone other than yourself? Leave the very sexy but insane witch to her inevitable demise!”

To himself, Geralt mutters, “I care about you.” Aloud, so Jaskier can hear, he says, “She saved your life, Jaskier. I can’t let her die.”

He keeps walking. 

Jaskier drops his arms and lets his head fall. 

_ You’re not coming back _ , he thinks, though he says nothing and does not ever intend to.  _ You’re not coming back, and we’ve still got so much life to live. _

For a moment it’s like Jaskier can hear Geralt telling him to shut up and stop being so dramatic. 

The first few cracks appear in the house’s walls. 

Jaskier whirls around to watch as more cracks form, creeping their way from roof to foundation, splitting into gaping maws of crumbling brick that spell out death for the one person Jaskier really, truly—

There is a halting moment of silence: the wind stops, the world holds its breath. 

And then the roof caves in. 

It’s like someone has sucker punched Jaskier in the gut. He’s drowning, and a part of him is sure, completely, utterly, sure that the house caved in on him, too, because there’s no way Geralt is dead and he is living, standing outside where Geralt was just minutes ago. 

“This can’t be happening,” Jaskier manages to whisper. “This can’t be happening.” 

His overwhelming grief shifts to anger, and Jaskier wants to scream. 

“Why did he go in there? It doesn’t make any sense. What, to save a mad fucking witch?  _ Why _ ?” 

He drops to his knees, ignoring the dirt that puffs up and lingers on his clothes. 

“What am I supposed to do now, hm? It wasn’t supposed to go this way. I’m gonna write you… the best song…” Jaskier stares down at his hands, resting limp on his knees. He traces the callouses and faint scars left behind by his lute, remembers the hours and hours he’s spent in the last few years alone singing in taverns until his voice ran dry, praising Geralt and their adventures in the vain hope of earning a few feeble coins. “Everyone will remember who you were, what we did, everything we saw. And I will sing it… for the rest of my days.” To nobody, Jaskier adds, with a sad smile and a burning hint of humor, “He always said I had the most wonderful singing voice.”

There’s a noise, a faint clattering, from inside the house. Jaskier looks up, hope flaring in his chest. “Geralt?” 

He stands and walks around the side of the house to look inside one of the broken windows. 

What he sees sends a rock plummeting to the bottom of his stomach. He turns away and walks back to where he’d been sitting in front of the house.

The rock in his gut somehow grows larger and larger with every passing minute until it consumes him completely, leaving nothing but a crushed bard wiping dirt off his pants and praying for a suitably dramatic end to befall him as soon as humanly possible behind. 

When it becomes clear that Geralt isn’t coming out anytime soon, Jaskier drags himself to the ruined front porch of the house and sits, leaning up against the still partially intact brick wall. 

He closes his eyes and tries so, so very hard not to think. 

It doesn’t work. 

Jaskier knows he doesn’t have any wishes, no djinn at his disposal, but still he asks the universe in general for a tankard of really good ale. Maybe two. He wouldn’t say no to three, either, or four, or five, or twenty-seven. 

The house creaks. Jaskier doesn’t bother to move. 

A few weak notes come to him out of nowhere, just as he’s beginning to consider borrowing Roach and riding to the closest town with an inn. 

The accompanying lyrics come just as freely, and as he sings them, the words leave scalding trails on his newly-healed throat. 

He wants to rip the stars out of the sky and throw them at the sun’s feet and  _ scream _ until  _ somebody _ hears him and he is no longer alone, holding up his love and watching it get tossed to the ground and stomped on, over and over and over again. He wants to tear this house down with his bare hands, brick by brick, and only stop crying when he’s run out of tears and his throat is so raw he cannot speak. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he sings. 

“ _ The fairer sex, they always call it. _ ” 

_ No _ . He shakes his head, starts over. 

“ _ The fairer sex, they often call it. _ ” 

_ Yes. Better _ . 

“ _ But she’s as unfair as a thief. _ ” 

Wrong.  _ Wrong, somehow _ . Wrong.  _ Try again _ . 

“ _ But her love’s as unfair as a… as a crook. _ ” 

He’s got it, now, and the words start coming faster than he can come up with a tune to go with them. 

“ _ It steals all my reason, commits every treason _

_ Of logic, with naught but a look. _ ” 

Unbeknownst to Jaskier, Geralt falls asleep inside, clearly unbothered by the state of the house around him. And unbothered by his mourning companion outside. 

“ _ A storm breaking on the horizon _

_ Of longing and heartache and lust _

_ She's always bad news _

_ It's always lose, lose _

_ So tell me love, tell me love _

_ How is that just? _ ”

Yennefer leaves, disappears into the ruins of the house. Neither Geralt or Jaskier know how, or when, but she’s gone by the time Geralt wakes up. 

“ _ But the story is this _

_ She'll destroy with her sweet kiss _

_ Her sweet kiss _

_ But the story is this _

_ She'll destroy with her sweet kiss. _ ”

It takes longer than it probably should for Geralt to get his bearings. He doesn’t notice the faint sounds of singing coming from outside. 

“ _ Her current is pulling you closer _

_ And charging the hot, humid night _

_ The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool _

_ Better stay out of sight.” _

A pause. Jaskier takes a deep breath. His voice breaks on the next line. 

“ _ I'm weak my love, and I am wanting _

_ If this is the path I must trudge _

_ I welcome my sentence _

_ Give to you my penance _

_ Garrotter, jury and judge. _ ”

Jaskier regrets not finding something to write this down on, but the heavy ache settling in his chest reminds him that this isn’t a song he’ll ever forget. 

“ _ But the story is this _

_ She'll destroy with her sweet kiss _

_ Her sweet kiss _

_ The story is this _

_ She'll destroy with her sweet kiss. _ ” 

Geralt lumbers outside, the medallion around his neck glinting in the sunlight. At first, he doesn’t see Jaskier sitting in the shade of the porch, but Jaskier shifts when he sees Geralt, and Geralt locates his disheveled bard. 

Jaskier doesn’t say a word. 

“Hmm.” Geralt motions for Jaskier to stand and follow him, and so Jaskier does, though he’s a bit less  _ sunshine-y _ than Geralt knows he usually is, and he’s kicking up pebbles as he walks. 

They walk in silence to the gates. 

_ Wait. Silence? _

Geralt stops at the gates. He surveys the horizon, taking in the trees and the mountains in the distance. 

Jaskier, who had kept walking after Geralt stopped, turns and takes exactly two steps toward Geralt. Still not saying a thing. 

Geralt takes a deep breath. He can see Roach a few feet away, still standing next to the post he’d left her at. 

Geralt meets Jaskier’s eyes. Cornflower blue, the lightest shade he’s ever seen— and, let’s be honest, payed attention to,— usually so merry and bright but now, Geralt realizes, something he doesn’t really want to identify sinking in his chest, a sad sort of grey. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, before he can stop himself, and then, “I’ve never heard you this quiet in my entire  _ life _ .” 

Jaskier stares at Geralt, mouth slightly open in momentarily stunned silence. Geralt is sure Jaskier is about to just brush him off and keep walking. Geralt is wrong. 

“Are you… are you serious?” 

Geralt’s brow furrows. 

“Are you  _ actually fucking serious _ ?” 

“I don’t—”

“You don’t! Of course you don’t! You lost your goddamn mind the moment you saw that sorceress, right, and then all of a sudden I’m nothing and you’re single-mindedly obsessed with some… some  _ witch _ you met like  _ four fucking hours ago _ !” 

“Jaskier, I went to her for help to save  _ you— _ ”

“Yeah, and then the moment you could toss your no good, empty-voiced, useless,  _ disposable _ traveling companion away, you did! Left me out here for  _ hours _ , Geralt,  _ hours _ , while you were having the  _ time of your life _ and I thought you were  _ dead _ !” Jaskier stumbles over the last word, voice cracking. “I was  _ mourning _ you!  _ Crying _ for you! Trying to figure out how the fuck I was supposed to live  _ without _ you!” 

“Jaskier—”

“And you know the worst part, Geralt?” Jaskier doesn’t pause to take a breath. “The worst part isn’t that I was trying to figure out a plan to contact your witcher family, what with the very little you’ve told me of them, or that I was  _ dying _ outside because I thought I was going to have to go into a collapsed wreck and dig out the corpse of the  _ love _ of my  _ goddamn life _ , or even the fact that I thought you’d  _ died _ for me, because you made a  _ stupid fucking deal _ with that witch to save my life! No, Geralt, the worst part is that you clearly didn’t even stop for  _ one bloody second _ to think of me. Not one.  _ No, it’s all good, I’ll just abandon my one and only friend who’s mourning my death outside while I just have sex with this sorceress over here and ignore him for half a day. All good! No problems here! _ ” 

Geralt takes a while to respond once Jaskier finishes. “I guess,” he says, through the lump in his throat, “I guess we go our separate ways, then.” Jaskier’s words echo in his head, and only once he’s said they should separate does the phrase “ _ love of my life _ ” sink in. 

_ Fuck _ . 

Jaskier blinks, tilting his head, confused. “What?” 

“You said,” Geralt clears his throat, pushing Jaskier’s words aside and ignoring how they make his heart pound. “You made your point abundantly clear. I… I understand.” 

“ _ What _ ?” 

“You don’t have to explain anymore—” 

“Geralt, you  _ bloody _ idiot.” Jaskier takes a step forward, closes the gap between them. “I love you, you dumbass.” 

It’s Geralt’s turn to be confused. His heartbeat quickens, and, to his embarrassment, he finds a blush creeping up his neck. 

“What?” 

“I’ve loved you for like—” Jaskier quickly counts on his fingers, mumbling under his breath. “I’ve loved you for ten years, Geralt, since Posada, since that Devil and the elves and everything. Since the tavern, if I’m being honest, though I didn’t really… know that, yet.” 

“ _ What _ ?” 

“Do you…” Jaskier looks at the ground and fiddles with the thin gold ring on his index finger. “Do you mind if I, uh. If I kiss you?” 

“No.” The word escapes Geralt before he knows what he’s saying, but strangely, he finds he doesn’t regret saying it. 

There’s no crescendo, no magical moment where the sun bursts out from behind the clouds and the birds start singing. 

But Jaskier is kissing Geralt, and Geralt is kissing Jaskier, and the ache in Jaskier’s stomach is being replaced with pure, golden sunlight, and Geralt can’t remember ever being happier. 

Roach, from her post a few feet away, neighs. 

They’re both breathless when they finally pull apart. 

“So.” 

Geralt hums. 

“That bad, huh?” Jaskier grins, and Geralt barks out a laugh. 

“I think Roach is getting impatient,” Geralt says, looking over Jaskier’s shoulder to his exasperated mare. 

“I can fix that!” Jaskier presses a gentle kiss to Geralt’s nose, then turns and skips over to Roach. “Hello, lovely. It is with my deepest apologies that I come to you, begging forgiveness for the ridiculously long time we’ve taken to come back.” He rummages around in Roach’s saddlebags, tongue sticking out in concentration. It doesn’t take long for him to reemerge, victoriously holding up a handful of sugar cubes. “Here you go! Please forgive us.” 

Roach nickers and laps up the cubes from Jaskier’s palm. 

“There’s a lovely girl.” Jaskier straightens and runs a hand through Roach’s mane, twisting out any knots he finds. “So.” Geralt walks over, and Jaskier, still focused on Roach’s mane, says nonchalantly, “What exactly happened in there, with the djinn and… stuff?” 

“Well.” 

“Don’t be stingy, Geralt, details are necessary, for ballads’ sakes.” 

Geralt smiles, though he doesn’t let Jasker see it. His smile quickly fades as he recalls the scene with the djinn. “I made a wish.” 

“That’s not a crime, Geralt,” Jaskier says lightly, looking up. “You were the one with the wishes, were you not?” 

“I was.” 

Jaskier frowns. “Why do you sound so... hesitating? Geralt?” Geralt fiddles with Roach’s saddle, and Jaskier lets go of Roach’s mane. “Geralt, what was the wish?” 

Geralt mumbles the wish. 

“Geralt? Please, please, please, in the name of Melitele, please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid.” 

Geralt doesn’t answer. 

“What was the wish?” 

“I wished for...”

Geralt haltingly tells Jaskier the wish, looking anywhere but at his bard. 

Jaskier, understandably, is rendered speechless for the third time that day. He manages to speak only four words, though they sum up his thoughts quite well: 

“What the  _ fuck _ , Geralt?” 

“I know, I know. At the time it seemed like the only option to get us both out of there intact and alive.” 

“Yeah, I get that, but also, that’s fucked up, even for you.” 

“That’s fair.” 

“Thank you.” 

The two of them (plus Roach) stand in silence, silence broken only by Roach’s occasional snorting and pawing at the ground. 

“How’re we going to deal with this one?” 

Geralt shrugs. 

“You should probably… tell her.” 

“Who, Yennefer?” 

“Who else?” 

“What the hell do I say to her, though?” 

“How about: ‘Hi, Geralt here. Do you remember that one time we were both trapped in a nightmarish djinn situation that was largely your fault and almost got us both killed? Yeah, well, I saved our lives, but I did it in a very unnecessarily convoluted way that effectively knotted our fates together. Just thought you should know. Okay, bye!’” 

“That’s… a terrible plan.” 

“Do you have a better one?” 

Geralt sighs. “No.” 

“My plan it is!” Jasker claps his hands together. “Okay! Back to that awful house, then.” 

“I should...” Geralt stares at the blood still streaked all over Jaskier’s chest. “I should go in alone.” 

Jaskier laughs. “Ah, you make the funniest jokes sometimes, Geralt! Alrighty then, let’s go and see the witch together.” 

Geralt hums again and follows Jaskier back through the gates to the crumbling house. 

Their conversation with Yennefer is interesting, to say the least. Ultimately they come to an understanding: Yennefer will work to break the wish (“I’ve already got some ideas, though I’m still not over the fact that  _ that _ is what you chose to wish for, Geralt, what the  _ fuck _ ,”), and Geralt and Jaskier will continue on the Path. Geralt, on their way out, asks if they’ll ever meet again, and Yennefer rolls her eyes and tells him that, whether she breaks the wish or not, he’s tied their destinies together, and their paths will inevitably cross again, someday. 

When Geralt doesn’t immediately reply, Yennefer laughs and admits that she’s not sure how to feel about it, either. 

Jaskier and Geralt are halfway back to Roach when Yennefer, standing in the house’s cracked doorway, calls after them. 

“And, Geralt, take care of your bard. He’s tangled in this mess just as much as we are, now.” 

Geralt briefly looks a bit panicked, but Jaskier just nudges his shoulder and smiles. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> pls forgive any typos, i wrote this very early in the morning and have only reread it once 
> 
> comments & kudos greatly appreciated! tysm for reading


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